


The Time for Sleep is Now

by mirkandmidnight



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen, I did try, Insomnia, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Pre-Slash, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-04 23:59:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4157862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirkandmidnight/pseuds/mirkandmidnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not like Combeferre hates dealing with people. It’s just that it’s 7 am and he’s really regretting that bust of enthusiasm for his education that made him decide to take a class this goddamn early in the morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Time for Sleep is Now

It’s not like Combeferre hates dealing with people. It’s just that it’s 7 am and he’s really regretting that bust of enthusiasm for his education that made him decide to take a class this goddamn early in the morning. His only consolation is that he’s not the only miserable person here. Combeferre’s pretty sure that everyone in the lecture hall, including the professor, is dying a slow and painful death thinking about the prospect of a whole semester of this. It’s only the second week of the class and Combeferre’s already miserable.

Combeferre picks a seat near the aisle and sinks into it, plugging in his laptop at the nearest power outlet and rests his head in his hands. Why, why, for the love of God, had he thought this would be a good idea? He doesn’t even have Enjolras here to be entertaining by questioning the professor every five seconds.

He forces himself to take a sip of his coffee, which has long since gone cold, and grimaces. A few aisles down, a scary looking goth girl has her arms wrapped around the shoulders of a curly haired, paint flecked guy, and another guy with artfully spiked hair and a leather jacket.

But Combeferre’s jerked back to reality when someone plunks down into the seat next to him. He stifles a glare. He’s sure that he didn’t invite anyone to sit here, and no one’s sat next to him for the first week. Combeferre’s preparing a scathing remark when he turns and actually gets a look at this kid, and by then he can’t summon up the will to actually go through with it.

This kid looks exhausted. He’s still wearing his pajama bottoms, for God’s sake, his hair looks like a bird’s nest of curls, and there are huge dark circles under his eyes. Combeferre might be tired and cranky, but even he’s not cruel enough to pick on the guy when he’s in this state.

The guy rummages around in his backpack and pulls out a can of Red Bull, then sets it down next to a purple thermos of coffee and contemplates the two. He pops the tab on the can, then pours the Red Bull into the coffee. He wrinkles his nose, shudders, then downs the whole concoction in one go. Combeferre can’t look away, struck with a morbid fascination. He’s sure he’s not hiding the growing look of horror on his face.

The guy sets the thermos down and stares straight ahead. “I’m going to die,” he groans.

“Have you even slept?” Combeferre says, horrified.

The guy looks over as if noticing him for the first time, and dear god, are the man’s eyes blue. He shrugs. “Sleep is for the weak.”

Combeferre shakes his head. “Okay, I’m pretty sure you’re insane. That much caffeine can’t be good for you this early in the morning. I should know, I’m pre-med.”

The guy cocks his head. “And who might you be, oh friendly medical advice giver I’ve never met?” It doesn’t sound rude, although by all rights it should. Honestly, Combeferre won’t be surprised if it turns out that he’s dreamt this entire encounter. It’s shaping up to be that kind of week.

“Combeferre,” he says.

He nods, rubbing blearily at his eyes. “Nice to meet you, Combeferre. I’m Courfeyrac, and why have you decided to join us in the pits of hell today?” Courfeyrac phrases the question like he’s an interviewer, and Combeferre has to try very hard not to be charmed.

“Um,” he starts, but before he can finish the sentence Professor Lamarque cuts them off with a glare and the lecture’s begun.

***

Courfeyrac could kill someone cheerfully, he really could. Unfortunately, the only thing he can do at this point is wonder why morning classes are a thing and why he has to have a morning class with Tattoo Guy. And why today, of all days, is the day his exhaustion addled brain picks to talk to Tattoo Guy.

Who is apparently called Combeferre, which is just adorable.

Courfeyrac is kicking himself all through the lecture. Why have you joined us in the pits of hell today, really? Courfeyrac doesn’t know what’s happening to him, because he is an amazing flirt, he really is. Just because Combeferre is cute and happens to have tattoo sleeves and dimples (which just isn’t fair, it really isn’t) doesn’t mean his brain gets to go on vacation every time he sees him.

He books it out of the lecture hall as soon as class is over and swears he’s going to sleep for a week.

***

Courfeyrac is sitting at the same desk next week, silently beating his head against the tabletop when Combeferre sits down next to him. “Rough week?” he asks, amused.

Courfeyrac doesn’t even lift his head from the desk. 

“Hey, at least you made it out of your dinosaur pajama pants this time,” Combeferre says, and sets down a travel cup full of coffee on the desktop. He pulls out a pen and notebook as well.

Courfeyrac’s hands shoot out and grab the coffee cup, pressing it to his forehead. He pushes himself into a sitting position and takes a sip of the coffee before he looks up to see Combeferre’s raised eyebrow. 

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry,” he says. “Sorry, I really didn’t mean to do that, my hands just sort of,” Courfeyrac flaps the offending appendages. “See, they just do what they want, I have no control over them at all.”

Combeferre smiles and waves a hand. “No, no, keep it. You need it more than I do, obviously.” 

Courfeyrac melts.

***

“He’s just so adorable,” Courfeyrac wails at Jehan, who looks appropriately surprised given that they’ve just walked out of the English building and haven’t spoken to Courfeyrac since the night before.

They tilt their head. “I’m sorry, who are we talking about?” Jehan asks, adjusting the sleeves of their sweater. They pick at the end of their braid and look at Courfeyrac questioningly.

Courfeyrac flails. “Combeferre! Tattoo Guy! What is my life, Jehan?”

Jehan reaches up and musses Courfeyrac’s curls. “I’m a poet, not a philosopher,” they say cheerfully.

He groans. “And he always looks perfect at like, o’dark thirty. How does that even work? I go to class in my pajamas!”

They shrug. “Not a philosopher, Courfeyrac.”

Across the street, Combeferre is walking to his next class with Joly, a fellow medical student. Joly frowns and glances across in the middle of a sentence, Combeferre following his gaze.

“Don’t you know that guy?” Joly asks, pointing at a flailing Courfeyrac. “What’s he doing?”

Combeferre shrugs. “Dunno. I think something’s the matter with his sleep schedule. The first day of class, he mixed coffee and Red Bull and drank it all in one go.”

Joly’s look of horror keeps him smiling the rest of the day.

***

Combeferre’s almost late to class the next time it meets, because he brings Courfeyrac coffee. He doesn’t know why he does it. He means to go to class, but somehow his feet end up taking him to the coffee shop opposite the lecture hall and his mouth ends up ordering a large latte with an espresso shot.

He slides into his seat and shakes Courfeyrac’s shoulder, who’s slumped on his desk. He sits up, and Combeferre shoves the cup at him. The look of gratitude Courfeyrac gives him makes his heart flutter, and Combeferre can’t for the life of him figure out why.

Of course, he doesn’t have time to think about it any further, because Professor Lamarque begins speaking and then Combeferre’s scribbling down notes while Courfeyrac sips at his coffee, and oddly satisfied look on his face.

Which is just strange. Because it’s just coffee, isn’t it?

It ends up becoming something of a tradition between them. Combeferre brings two cups of coffee to class, and Courfeyrac brings snacks. Combeferre’s pretty sure the entire class is collectively staring at them all through the lecture at this point, but hey, he has coffee, he has snacks, he’s not exactly in a position to complain about this.

***

The next class, Combeferre is late because there was a crowd on the trains and he woke up late and by the time he got to his normal coffee shop, there was already a line out the door and he really didn’t have time to deal with this. So he groans and heads to class, resigning himself to a day without caffeine.

He walks in two minutes after the lecture starts, cheeks burning with embarrassment, and Professor Lamarque gives him quite a good dressing down, and a long one too. Combeferre takes it, standing in the back of the hall, head down. When Lamarque’s finally finished, he slinks to his usual seat next to Courfeyrac, who’s looking bleary eyed but horrified as well.

“Jesus Christ, Combeferre,” he hisses. “Are you okay?”

Combeferre shrugs. “Not like I didn’t have it coming. And I couldn’t get the coffee this morning, sorry. I was running a bit late, as you may have noticed.”

Courfeyrac falls forward to hit his head on the tabletop of his desk and groans.

About halfway through the class, Courfeyrac falls asleep, his head on Combeferre’s shoulder. Combeferre considers waking him up for a second, but then decides against it since, hell, this is probably the first real sleep Courfeyrac’s gotten since they met and he’s not going to screw that up. So he just adjusts his position to be more comfortable and carries on taking notes.

Class ends, and Courfeyrac’s still asleep. On her way out, Professor Lamarque comes to stand by them and apologizes for being so vociferous in her earlier scolding. Apparently it’s a bit early in the morning for her to be dealing with students as well.

Combeferre nods and accepts her apology, then pulls out his laptop and starts to work on a paper that’s due next week. Courfeyrac is still fast asleep, looking more peaceful than Combeferre thinks he’s ever seen him.

He works on the paper for an hour or so before Courfeyrac finally starts to wake up. He mumbles something in his sleep and shoves his hair off his forehead, and Combeferre decides to just wake him up. He closes up his laptop and shakes Courfeyrac’s shoulder gently.

“What time is it?” he mumbles. 

Combeferre checks his watch. “Just after 11:30,” he says, and that jolts Courfeyrac awake. He scrambles to put away his things, shoving paper and pen into his backpack, then pauses.

“Wait a second,” Courfeyrac says. “Why are you still here?”

He shrugs. “You fell asleep on me. Seemed kind of rude to wake you up, considering the amount of caffeine I ply you with.”

“You sat here for an hour and a half after class ended just because I fell asleep on you, “ Courfeyrac confirms.

“Yes?” Combeferre says, tilting his head.

He grins. “I’m going to kiss you now, if that’s okay.”

And so he does.

**Author's Note:**

> Um. Yes. I did try. Title comes from I Will Follow You Into the Dark, because that seems to be the Les Mis song du jour, and poor Courf really can't get a good night's sleep, probably because Enjolras is up typing at all hours of the night and Marius snores really loud. I don't make the rules.


End file.
